Pieces of Me
by Dendera
Summary: “Left behind are mere pieces some of them lost, others simply worn away. I know now that you can’t hold me together.” A post breakup Barbara Gordon reflects on the reason behind her decision to part ways with Dick Grayson. [Not a songfic]


Title: Pieces of Me

Rating: PG (one semi-naughty word)

Summary: "Left behind are mere pieces; some of them lost, others simply worn away. I know now that you can't hold me together." A post break-up Barbara Gordon reflects on the reason behind her decision to part ways with Dick Grayson.

Disclaimer: Nightwing and Barbara Gordon do not belong to me (damn), but are the property of DC comics. Only this vignette is mine. Please do not copy or reproduce it in any way without my permission.

Dedication: For Ty, my own boy wonder.

* * *

You think I don't understand your hurt, your pain. That because I cling to my cool logic, locked away in an impenetrable tower, that I too am as cold and distant as the machines that make up my world. Spend too much time around computers, ignoring the humanity outside my walls, and I'm bound to end up just as detached and unfeeling. Isn't that right? Isn't that what you all think? Why else would I cut you this way, and leave you to bleed?

I suppose you couldn't understand. In fact, I knew you wouldn't, because where is the sense in hurting someone you love? You always want to see the good in people; you can't bring yourself to write them off. Not like me. It feels like abandonment, doesn't it? Like I cut off your lifeline, and left you fumbling in the dark, lost and grasping at shadows. How could you know that I did it for you?

It was different when we were younger; things were simpler. I remember those long nights when Bruce was away, off on a business trip or haunting the streets as Batman. I wasn't much older than you were; at least it didn't feel that way. Just a gangly, freckled teenager and her adoring babysitting charge. It would storm outside, and you would come tearing out of your bedroom, calling my name. Reaching out for my solid warmth, the security of a guardian angel. It was _so_ easy to be what you needed back then; what you deserved.

Many years later, we would spend our nights racing across the Gotham rooftops. When dawn cradled the harbor, we would sit together, just basking in the sweetness of a job well done. Enjoying the solitude of each other's company. And when you kissed me that first time, with the tender timidity of an adolescent's first love, I thought that maybe I _could_ be what you wanted. I never flew higher than I did when I was at your side; only you could have given me such freedom.

Then things changed. Life happened, and as so many people do, we ventured off our separate ways. But I never forgot, not for one second. Whenever our paths chanced to cross, I remembered that freedom, and locked the feeling safely away inside. I lost the use of my legs, and in the blur of days that followed, the use of my heart. Batgirl was gone forever, little more than a fleeting memory, a wisp of a dream. Barbara, with the laughing green eyes, slept on in a self-induced hibernation. Only Oracle remained.

Still, you remained a faithful companion. A valiant prince prepared to storm any battlement, in order to awaken his fair lady from her winter slumber. I never really bought into fairytales. I guess that comes from being the daughter of a cop, and no-nonsense, straightforward one at that. I grew up reading books on psychology, sociology, and criminal profiling; can you blame me for not turning out to be some mushy romantic?

Imagine my surprise when you won me over, me a glorified cynic; sleeping beauty on her wheeled, steel throne. One day, I felt the ice thinning, my defenses crumbling, and I thought, maybe I _could_ do this. Maybe there was such a thing as a happy ending for me.

But I was wrong; we _both_ were. My life isn't a storybook, and there isn't a bright horizon waiting at the end of the pages. It has always been complicated for us, and for those who walk similar paths, it _always_ will be. We aren't average. We're not even normal. How can we expect to have normal lives? I'm sorry to have tangled you up in what must seem like old baggage, but the truth remains; it isn't fair of me to ask what I need of you. It isn't fair of me to want to love you on _my_ terms.

The girl you knew lies shattered on the cold floor. She never got back up again. Left behind are mere pieces; some of them lost, others simply worn away. I know now that you can't hold me together; I can't expect that of you. When something is beyond repair, most people would just throw it away. But not you, because you're too damn stubborn. And so, I must be the one to save you this time. From yourself, but most importantly, from _me_.

I will play the villain, if needs be. I'll say the unprovoked, harsh words and turn you away, once again donning the rigid façade that seems to declare: _I don't need anyone_. The pain is cutting, dizzying, but brief compared to what it could have been had I held you close a little longer. And Grayson, how I wish I could have held you _forever_. I want so badly to tell you that I don't mean a word of it, that I really do need rescuing. That secretly, I've always wanted a prince. But I can't, and so I won't.

I know you must think me cruel. You've turned off your communicator, and rid yourself of any tracers that might link you to the all-seeing Oracle. I can't reach you, even if you wanted me to, which you don't, apparently. It is too much for me to hope that one day you might understand the reasoning behind my decision, but more than anything, I want you to know that I don't regret you. For once, I got to have something natural, something real. Daily I am surrounded by shadows of reality, imitations of life. The endless expanse of cyberspace, the fluid technology of virtual reality, my anonymous contacts, hell, even my own face, the mask that represents Oracle; none of it is tangible. But you were _real_.

Irony really is bitch. As Oracle, I can watch over my friends and family, fight to protect and guide them, but only from a distance. They are my _entire_ world, yet I can never be part of theirs. It's too dangerous, for everyone involved. We knew what we were getting into when we chose this lifestyle. We've accepted our calling, and now, in turn, we must accept the responsibilities and consequences that the cards have dealt us. Do I believe in fate, that some great force has predetermined my every move, drawing each of us toward our respective destiny? Not really. But I do believe in _me_. And given all that's happened to us in the last few months, I know what I have to do.

I have to let you go. The omnipresent, omniscient Oracle has to watch helplessly as you struggle with your grief. Even worse, the woman, Barbara Gordon, must watch you pick yourself up and move on. You see, I believe in you _too_, boy wonder. And you will recover, steeling yourself and growing stronger. Someday you'll find someone else, someone wonderful, a woman more deserving than me. I'll have to stand (_sit_ actually, who are you kidding, Gordon?) aloofly to the side and watch as she puts you back together again. A girl can't have everything in life, and it would be selfish of me to try. I can't give into the weak longings of my heart. So I will swallow my own turmoil, numb my guilt, and surrender myself to the belief that the Oracle of Gotham does not have the luxury of being in love.

Even if the pieces of me want _only_ to belong to you.

* * *

Fin


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